


i am not a dirty god and i don't have a dirty body

by brotherfuckersanonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slight Canon Divergence, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckersanonymous/pseuds/brotherfuckersanonymous
Summary: Jeremiah could tell he wouldn’t be able to get the taste of Jerome out of his mouth for hours.





	i am not a dirty god and i don't have a dirty body

**Author's Note:**

> thanks gotham for fueling my own personal cringe compilation: myself 
> 
> set in the labyrinth during jeremiah's first appearance. let's just pretend harvey and jim didn't show up for a while longer. like, a huge while longer. they definitely got lost. au where they got lost.
> 
> title is from legit tattoo gun by the front bottoms.

“You know what really made me sick?” Jerome muttered, twisting the tip of his knife against Jeremiah’s head. It wasn’t cutting into anything, it was just a dull, pinlike pressure against Jeremiah’s temple, but it was aiding a growing headache. “You told her over and over and over and over about how I tried to kill you, but you never tried to get creative with it, huh? That’s just insulting, y’know. It was always that I tried to stab you or shove you out a window or set fire to you or what the fuck ever it was. D’you know what I’ve done to this city already, baby brother? You know what I’m gonna do? If you’re gonna make up rumors, weeelll.”

Jerome whipped the knife back up his sleeve and shoved Jeremiah down against the concrete floor, fingers tangling in Jeremiah’s hair. Jeremiah choked on air and coughed, the sharp cold against his aching cheek. Jerome wrapped Jeremiah’s hair around his fingers and jerked Jeremiah’s head back, making him gasp in pain. Jeremiah felt so helpless and frustrated that it was making him sick with anger. 

“If you’re gonna make up rumors,” Jerome continued, his voice little more than a snarl in Jeremiah’s ear, “think of somethin’ good! You know how to kill people, you know how you want to, you know how it could make you feel if you hurt someone, so do something with it! At least share it a little, for Christ’s sake!”

”I’m not like you,” Jeremiah forced out between his teeth. His entire body was on fire, hot and upset, blinding red sliding a film over his vision. “I’m not you. I never — _look_ at you. Y-you look like this because you were meant to _die_. You’re a wasted soul. You destroyed yourself.”

”Oh, Jer, you never saw it,” Jerome sighed, sounding sad and dramatic and Jeremiah tensed up, knowing the worst was yet to come. “Y’know what happened? Uh, I trusted people. I trusted a couple people before I could start playing with them, using them, making them strike a pose, whatever. The first one, killed me. Second one, stole my face. Oh, I could’ve looked a lot worse. Maybe I wouldn’t’ve looked like you anymore. Always funny whenever people would mix us up, huh? Which one’s Jerome? Which one’s Jeremiah? You know what, though?” Jerome laughed, that hideous, awful, cackling laugh that felt like nails scratching down the length of Jeremiah’s spine. “I can’t tell either!”

“I don’t need to be liked,” Jeremiah hissed. “I don’t need to perform, I don’t need to put on shows, I don’t need people to see my name in lights — I don’t make a show out of my compulsions. I’m not — I’m not _demented_ like you.” 

“You’ve got it all wrong, baby bro, all wrong!” Jerome crowed, echoing in Jeremiah’s ears. “ _They_ are the performances! They do all my work for me, it’s crazy! It’s not about me, it’s about them! I’m only about the presentation, the stage presence! That’s my game! It’s up to every stinking sad sack of normal in Gotham City to put on a goddamn show for me and for their audience.” Jerome shoved at Jeremiah’s shoulder and pushed him into his back, pinning him down against the floor. Jeremiah’s breath left him, and conscious thought did for a moment, too.

“You couldn’t control your compulsions anyway, Jer,” Jerome said, his voice dropping. He held Jeremiah’s wrists down in one hand, the other splaying over Jeremiah’s stomach. Whitehot heat radiated from the touch and Jeremiah had to close his eyes and swallow, dread filling him like it was pure lead. "You think you're better than me? Huh? You think you've got some, what, _humanity_ left? Humanity, morals, dignity, something like that. Nah, that's not what it is.

"You're just a coward." Jerome's hand dragging up to curl into Jeremiah's chest underneath his jacket, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt.  _I could pull your heart out right now_ , that's what that was. _I could pull your heart out and eat it. I could make you eat it for me_. Jeremiah's breathing shook and he flexed his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them.  

"What's your point?" Jeremiah asked, his voice scratched and hurting. "What do you want? I won't kill for you. And I won't kill you." He felt like an abused pin-up girl, stuck in place and frozen into a pretty picture. Something only Jerome found pretty. 

"I'm just saying." Jerome shrugged, the malice suddenly falling. His hand roamed from Jeremiah's shirt pocket to his tie. With a flick of his wrist, Jerome pulled it loose, and Jeremiah's hideous gut feeling grew instantly in time to the motion. 

"Don't," Jeremiah spat. Jerome smiled down at him and popped his first shirt button.

"Hey, that broad I followed who sent me here in a cage, who is she?" Jerome asked, ignoring Jeremiah entirely. The switchblade appeared between his fingers again and Jeremiah instinctively tried to jerk away as Jerome sliced through button stitches one by one, working his way down. "Did you marry her? Never figured you were the marrying type. Too much like me. Do you just sleep with her? She's not even that hot, seriously."

"She is none of your business," Jeremiah said, his voice carefully controlled, because if he didn't keep a grip on himself, he was going to fly into a rage and do what Jerome wanted. He was too scared about Ecco to want to think about her and too angry to want Jerome to even speak about her. His only hope was that she would've been able to make her way out alive; he knew she was more than smart enough for that. "She has no information about me that you don't already know. She's nothing to you."

"If she's somethin' to you, she's somethin' to me." Jerome's fingers fit between the bones of Jeremiah's rib cage, the heat searing Jeremiah's bare skin. Jeremiah's throat closed up with the bizarre, humiliating sensation of wanting to cry, but he was able to swallow it back. He couldn't swallow back the twisted excitement that was crawling along his body like insects, though. It was building between his hips and spreading like vines through his body. He couldn't look Jerome in the face this time. 

Jerome stuck his tongue out and pressed the flat of his knife against it in thought, humming to himself, watching Jeremiah, studying him, sizing him up. Jeremiah suddenly realized his hands weren't being pinned back anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to move them. Jeremiah opened his eyes again to see Jerome close his lips over the knife, sucking on it as he shifted back just enough to toy with the button on Jeremiah's pants. Jeremiah couldn't swallow the strain and pressure he felt against the fabric, either, and he exhaled, harsh and shaking. There was the glitch.

The glitch was a broken set of heads. Jeremiah and Jerome hadn't grown up like brothers. They would never be brothers. Jeremiah believed they weren't ever meant to be brothers at all, but some higher power had made a mistake and gave the wrong people the same blood, the same mold, the same heartstrings tied together. Because of their cruel and unusual punishment, they felt too much. They felt everything. They felt everything you were never supposed to feel for your twin brother ( _hatelovelustmineminemine)._ It wasn't just the intrusive thoughts and the rage and the fascination with torture and blood and hurt and pain that Jeremiah had to live with - he had to live with the fact that he thought about Jerome in the earliest hours of the morning when Ecco was asleep and on the other side of the bed. He had to bury his face in his pillow and feel the guilt and shame eat him from the inside out as he touched himself, thinking of him, thinking of his brother making him hurt and beg for more of it. He would think of a red slap across his cheek and fingers wrapped around his throat and Jerome forcing him to feel full and whole. He'd gasp and feel boneless, a mess on his fingers and the abused mattress. 

"There's your compulsion, isn't it, bro?" Jerome whispered, cutting through the thread tying down Jeremiah's slacks button. "You're not gonna get to kill me yet. I'm gonna make you work for it." He undid the zipper and jerked pointedly at Jeremiah's slacks. His throat stuck shut, Jeremiah lifted his hips just enough for Jerome to tug them down. 

"Always kinda wondered if you were ever gonna be bigger than me. If you are, I'm cuttin' it off." Jerome pulled Jeremiah's briefs to his thighs and Jeremiah winced at how cold the air seemed to feel. ". . . alright, yeah, I guess you can keep it."

"Generous of you, thanks," Jeremiah muttered, blushing, somehow, for the first time today. He was a sight, wasn't he? He was propped up on his elbows, his hair was no longer in place the way he needed it to be, his cheeks were mottled red, his shirt was cut up and ruined, and his hard, leaking cock was in his brother's hand. He was being straddled by his own, personal homicidal maniac. Jerome ran his tongue mindlessly over the switchblade, sucking on the tip and watching Jeremiah's eyes as he drew his hand back to lick his palm, drool sliding off the side of his hand. Jeremiah had a nasty urge to lick it up, but it turned out he wouldn't have to want it anyway: Jerome leaned down and kissed Jeremiah on the lips, his fingers curling around Jeremiah's cock again. A click and a swish meant the knife had vanished again.

It was shocking how gentle it felt. Scary, actually - Jeremiah was frightened of what could come next. He couldn't think of a reason why Jerome would want to kiss him at all without trying to tear his mouth to shreds. It felt so good, though, so delicious and sweet, even given how just looking at the disfigurement of Jerome's mouth made Jeremiah uneasy. He parted his lips and sighed into Jerome's mouth, the world slowing down just enough for him to feel it moving. His hand dove up to grab at Jerome's hair, his hips jerking up against Jerome's hand. His other hand gripped Jerome's jacket, his body and his heart aching for this, shelving the self-disgust and hatred for now. Jeremiah was melting into it, so it only served him right when Jerome sunk his teeth into Jeremiah's bottom lip and pulled, twisting his fingers around Jeremiah's cock. 

Jeremiah let out a sharp cry and pressed his fingers to his now-throbbing lip, pulling them away to see the bright red. Jerome shoved Jeremiah's hand away and sucked on his lip, clutching at the back of his neck. Jerome moaned, obnoxious and irritating and disgustingly attractive before he broke away, grinning. "Gotcha."

"Fuck you." Jeremiah grabbed the front of Jerome's shirt and yanked him forward, kissing him first. Jeremiah bit into Jerome's lip and shoved his tongue inside Jerome's mouth, vicious satisfaction overtaking him. Jerome released Jeremiah's cock and Jeremiah jabbed him in the side out of pure annoyance and frustration. Jerome pulled himself free and giggled, clearly satisfied as blood dripped from his lip. 

"Not an easy lover, huh? Does she like it when you do this to her?" Jerome wiped his mouth off and sucked the blood off his fingers. "Nah, I bet you only wanna do that to me, don't you? D'you ever think about me when you do this to her?" 

"Either you get me off or I am going to call James Gordon's cellphone right now," Jeremiah hissed at him. 

Jerome laughed and got to his feet, hooking his hand under Jeremiah's armpit and pulling him up, sitting him back against the wall. Jerome kicked him in the chest to make him a little more pliable and Jeremiah gasped and coughed, clutching at himself as his shoulders curled forward. His eyes watering, Jeremiah looked up at Jerome with his teeth ground together. Jerome was whistling some tune Jeremiah didn't recognize, flinging his belt on the floor.

“Believe me, little bro, if I had you for as long as I wanted,” Jerome said, speaking rather matter-of-factly as he undid his zipper with one hand, grabbing Jeremiah’s hair with the other and forcing him to tilt his head up, “I’d really fuck you. I’d rub you _raw_.” The word dripped from Jerome’s lips like it was liquid and it made Jeremiah shiver down to the base of his spine. “I’d fill you up.” 

Jeremiah swallowed hard and let out a tight, sharp sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do this. I don’t — I don’t do this kind of thing. For anyone.”

Jerome smiled and clicked his tongue, pulling his cock out. “Open wide.”

Jeremiah groaned quietly and eyed Jerome’s cock with distaste. At least it was the one part of him that didn’t look like a living nightmare. Jeremiah lifted his hand to curl it around the base of Jerome’s cock, bracing himself before taking in as much as he could stand. 

Jeremiah hadn’t ever done anything like this before. Really, Jerome was the only male he’d ever thought about sexually to begin with. He didn’t have a clue how to do this. Science, physics, mathematics, engineering — those were simple. Those were entertaining. Those were easy and natural. Blowjobs weren’t. He closed his eyes and sucked on what he could, feeling so much more humiliated by this than anything else tonight. 

“Jesus Christ,” he heard Jerome mutter, full of vexation, and a hand grabbed the back of his head and shoved him forward. Jeremiah choked and gagged, tears pricking the corners of his eyes a second time. “You’re acting like you’ve never _done_ this before, ya drama queen.”

Jeremiah wanted to pull Jerome’s testicles off. But it was impossible to do anything like this: Jerome was using Jeremiah as a faceless toy, fucking his mouth before he was going to let him get steady on his feet with this. Jeremiah’s glasses were going to be broken, he was sure of it, and he was going to hate Jerome all the more for it. Jeremiah’s gag reflex protested in place of the voice he didn’t have anymore, forcing the tears running down his cheeks and the awful gagging sound every time Jerome slammed his hips forward. He felt his nose start to run, making it all feel a little bit worse. 

He didn’t quite get used to it — that was nearly impossible — but it did start to feel a little easier on his throat. Jeremiah clung to Jerome’s thighs as saliva dribbled steadily from his mouth, pooling on the floor. He was going to have to decontaminate this entire godforsaken corridor later. He cursed Jerome’s name on repeat in his head and it was drowned out by Jerome panting and swearing obscenely, rolling his hips against Jeremiah’s mouth. If his mother could see him now. 

Her killer was abusing her favorite son. How could he do such a thing? 

“Swallow,” Jerome ordered, his voice ragged and torn. “You better fuckin’ swallow every — every drop, golden boy.” He wrapped his fingers tightly around Jeremiah’s hair and forced him down to the base of his own cock. Jeremiah felt his throat open up against his will and Jerome’s movements stuttered, his grip in Jeremiah’s hair loosening.

Cum was the most nauseating thing Jeremiah had ever tasted. The hot, salty slick coated his tongue and made him feel like he was about to vomit the second he could breathe again. Jerome pulled out of Jeremiah’s mouth and Jeremiah retched, coughing up a mouthful of seed and saliva on the concrete. His glasses fell off his face and clattered to the floor, making him wince. 

“Wow, just take a look at you,” Jerome said, sounding almost awed as he tried to tip Jeremiah’s chin up. Jeremiah jerked away, his breath dragging over his teeth as he fumbled around for his glasses and shoved them back onto his face.

“Just leave,” Jeremiah managed, massaging his tattered throat. “I know you’ll want me again. J-just — just leave.”

Jerome dropped his hand and sighed loudly, his typical ‘you’re-boring-and-I’m-not’ tone. “Not even gonna cuddle? Alright, I know your type. Fine. Uh, might wanna do somethin’ about that before Jim and his dad and the Horribles catch up. Hatter’s gonna have a field day if you’re still laying around here looking like. . .” He gestured at Jeremiah, who was trying to get back on his feet, weak and tense and horribly, sickeningly uncomfortable. “. . . that.”

”Just get out,” Jeremiah said softly, pulling his briefs and his slacks back up. 

“Hey, you read my mind, okay? Practically out the door already.” Jerome was a lot quicker. Of course. Swift and businesslike, he dressed himself as he watched Jeremiah make an effort to piece himself back together in scraps. Jeremiah shot him a burning look and swiped fluids off his chin, flicking them to the floor. 

Jerome snickered and straightened his jacket, looking just as distinguished as he came, like he walked out of a movie set. “We’ve got big plans, bro. Big, big plans. You can’t imagine what I’ve got for Gotham City. And you’re the biggest part, you know. I can’t wait to see you onstage.” He hooked his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders and gave him a wet, smacking kiss underneath the ear before turning on his heel, his stolen dress shoes clicking a rhythm on the concrete. 

Jeremiah’s head fell heavily against the wall. He closed his eyes to the world, to God, to everything. He didn’t want to be looked at. 

He was bluffing when he talked about calling James Gordon. The entire fortress was pure concrete. Both of them knew that. It was stupid. Jeremiah had the choice to either wait in place like a little lost child or find them over the cameras after he had them repaired. 

Jeremiah couldn’t believe he had so much faith in himself. That he was somehow capable at all of stepping ahead of Jerome. He could be as careful and calculating and emotionless and clever as he wanted over a span of years and it still wasn’t enough. A house would always fall to a cyclone. He could think like Jerome, he could imagine he felt everything his brother could, he could indulge in the same kind of sodomy, he could recreate the horror Jerome bestowed on people as the only gift he could possibly offer to another human being — but it just. Wasn’t. Enough. 

Jeremiah was weak. He slid back down to the floor, his shoulders shaking. He hid his face in his hands, a spike of shame blooming through him when he heard Gordon’s voice faintly, footsteps falling in a flurry. 

He could tell he wouldn’t be able to get the taste of Jerome out of his mouth for hours, and he knew, teetering on the edge of his mind, that he’d taste it fresh again soon.  

**Author's Note:**

> shrug 
> 
> hmu if you know if these two have a ship name yet


End file.
